


Corey Taylor: The Golden Record

by skysonfire



Series: Corey Taylor [2]
Category: Slipknot (Band), Stone Sour
Genre: #8, Corey Todd Taylor, Devilish Midweek Divulgence, F/M, One Shot Collection, Smut with a Story, www.devilish-midweek-divulgence.tumblr.com
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 09:38:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3483374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skysonfire/pseuds/skysonfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the Devilish Midweek Divulgence "hump day" blog (www.devilish-midweek-divulgence.tumblr.com), this is a sort of abstract Corey Taylor piece that I wrote after being inspired by watching an old episode of "The X-Files." Photo edits associated with this piece can be found on the Tumblr blog site. Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Corey Taylor: The Golden Record

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Devilish Midweek Divulgence "hump day" blog (www.devilish-midweek-divulgence.tumblr.com), this is a sort of abstract Corey Taylor piece that I wrote after being inspired by watching an old episode of "The X-Files." Photo edits associated with this piece can be found on the Tumblr blog site. Enjoy!

Even from behind the closed door of the bedroom I could hear it; an outburst of strings and trumpeting. I wasn’t surprised — he got like this sometimes, especially upon returning home from months on the road. Sometimes it made him hard to reach; all of his introspection and odd brooding, but I was intent on making contact, as much as he was intent on his own thoughts. Contact.

I wound my way down the stairs and approached the study. Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 2 in F. First Movement danced about as though welcoming me to some type of private event that was only occurring inside of the mind of the man inside the room.

I slowly pushed ajar the large wooden door and found him lazing on the red leather couch, a thick cigar between his fingers, his fedora covering his eyes from the hazy light that streamed in through the long, stained glass windows at the back of the room. Smoke swirled about the study’s books, record player and effects like party revelers, but he was perfectly still; just listening; studying the movement.

Drifting over to the old player on my bare toes, I picked the needle off of the old vinyl and replaced it on the halo that would re-start the track. He stirred on the couch and sat up, tilting his hat back to hold me in his sight from across the room. He took a draw from his cigar and squinted his tired, star-filled eyes.

“This is the first track on the Voyager spacecrafts’ Golden Record.” His voice was quiet and serious under the celebratory reverberation of the piece. “Makes all other records insignificant, really,” he mused, touching his cigar to the crystal ashtray on the table in front of the couch.

“Yes, well,” I started, shedding my satin robe and letting it pour to the floor. “In 7.5 billion years, when the Earth is consumed by the sun, this piece will continue carry on through the universe.” I placed my hand on my hip and advanced toward him, cutting through the smoke’s dance.

“Time immemorial,” I whispered, leaning down to brush my mouth over his lips. I could see the beat of his heart in his neck and he placed his hands on my hips, pushing his fingers up under my simple knit panties, his callouses stimulating the sensitivity of my skin. I squeezed my eyes closed and let him pull me onto his lap. He took my face in his hands and I drenched him with the soft waterfall of my hair.

Bach’s composition beat in my ears and seemed to louden as my heart pounded in my chest. I milled against him and felt how hard he was growing against me. His lips were wet and smoky, and his fingers unclasped my bra.

“Seven billion years is a long time,” he smiled against my skin as he raked his teeth along my jaw. I struggled with the button on his pants and returned his smile once he was unsheathed.

“Yes,” I said. “Do you know how long this song is?” I stroked his length slowly as I asked. He simply shook his head.

“Four minutes and 45 seconds,” I said, sinking onto him and swallowing him with my growing desire.

Contact.


End file.
